Chapter Text
Tala had always noticed things that others didn’t. The way the sun hit the cafeteria windows in the late afternoon, the faint hum of the air conditioning in the classrooms, the rhythm of footsteps echoing in the hallways.
She had always thought of herself as an observer, a collector of small details, which is perhaps why, when she first saw Marikit Tan Alonzo, she noticed her immediately even though everyone else seemed to treat her like just another top student.
Kit was a transferee in Grade 8, and despite being new, she had already made a name for herself a Quiz Bee champion, flawless exam record, the flute that seemed to appear in her hands naturally.
Tala, who had never much cared for anyone’s reputation, found herself wondering about Kit in a way she had never wondered about anyone before.
It started in whispers.
In the hallway, between classes, when Kit’s chinita face appeared from the edge of her vision, focused and calm, and Tala’s chest would stutter in a way that made her stumble on her words with Paloma and Miggy. They had been her friends for years, and they noticed everything too.
“Who even is she?” Tala muttered once, exasperated, as if asking aloud might somehow summon clarity.
The cafeteria on a gloomy afternoon felt almost like a ghost town, with only a few students drifting in and out. Sunlight filtered through the open windows, casting thin, golden rays across the empty tables. In the far corner, Tala sat with Paloma and Miggy, the three of them sharing the space.
Tala, as usual, seemed lost in thought, her mind looping around Kit’s name like a persistent echo. When she glanced at the bulletin board she found Kit’s poster staring back at her. A fellow journalism club member had written about Kit’s latest win. Even the tarpaulin at the gate of St. Ignatius Academy bore her face, triumphant and composed. It was as if Kit was everywhere, in every corner of the school, in every whisper, every mention.
And yet, the more Tala saw, the more it confused her. When she caught sight of Kit in person, her eyes seemed to betray her, lingering longer than they should. Her brain buzzed with questions she didn’t know how to answer, wanting to understand, to know everything about this quiet, graceful girl.
“Marikit?” Miggy asked, bemused.
“The famous Quiz Bee girl,” Paloma said.
“Transferee, laging top sa exams, barely talks outside her friends. I don’t get why everyone makes such a fuss.” Tala shrugged, but she couldn’t explain the strange pull she felt toward Kit, the way her heart would speed up even when all she did was glance at her from a distance.
“Selos ka? You’re also good din naman eh. I think meron lang talagang something sa kanya na unique talaga that makes her so different with the others. Just like you.” Miggy told her. “Tapos maganda pa.”
She squinted at Miggy and tapped his shoulder lightly.
“Hoy! Hindi ako nagseselos, okay? Una sa lahat… I’ll never be jealous of attention. I’m content with the attention I already have. And honestly, she probably deserves it too. I’m just… confused. Like, ano ba talaga meron sa kanya?”
She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to Kit. Something deeper, something that drew attention without even trying and Tala felt, almost helplessly, that she needed to figure out what it was.
༄.°
Tala pushed open the library doors and was immediately greeted by that familiar, comforting smell of old paper mixed with the faint tang of ink and polished wood. The morning sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, creating long stripes of light across the quiet floors. The library was almost empty, just a handful of students scattered between the aisles, some bent over books, others typing quietly on laptops. A soft murmur and the scratch of pencils on paper were the only sounds, making the space feel focused, almost serene.
She walked straight toward the newspaper stands at the far end, her steps soft on the polished floor.
Today, her chief editor had assigned her a short editorial for the weekly school newspaper. She needed references, like quotes, past reports, statistics, and coverage of student achievements. Specifically, she wanted to see how past editions highlighted quiz bees, competitions, and notable club projects. She ran her fingers over the edges of neatly stacked newspapers, skimming through their pages with careful precision, looking for articles to cite, for examples to paraphrase, for patterns she could follow in tone and structure.
As she reached for a stack of back issues of the St. Ignatius Weekly, she noticed movement behind a low row of Filipino literature books. Marikit.
She was kneeling slightly over a small desk, tutoring a shy Grade 7 student in math. Tala froze, curiosity pulling her gaze. The younger girl’s notebook was open to a page on fractions and ratios, problems that required visual breakdowns and careful explanation. Kit traced diagrams with her pencil, with circles divided into slices, bars split into segments and spoke softly, her words slow and deliberate.
“You see,” Kit said gently, pointing to a pie chart she had drawn, “if this pizza is divided into four equal slices, and kuha ka ng dalawang slice, how many parts do you have? Try mo bilangin.”
The Grade 7 student hesitated, fingers moving across the paper, before nodding with understanding. Kit’s hand brushed the girl’s shoulder lightly. “Galing. You did great.”
Tala ducked behind the newspaper stand, watching silently. The details fascinated her: the way Kit’s eyes softened when the student got it right, the calm patience in her gestures, the subtle rhythm in her explanations, almost like she was conducting the numbers into comprehension. The sun caught the edges of Kit’s hair, the faint smell of notebook pages and pencil lead mixing with the library air. Tala’s chest tightened slightly, compelling pull of attention.
Tala returned to the newspaper stand and gathered a few things: a back issue of the St. Ignatius Weekly, a thin turquoise-bound mathematics reference book, and a maroon-colored volume on quiz bee statistics from last year.
She found a small table near the library door and settled down. Sunlight spilled over the corner of her table, warming the binder she set down carefully, opening it to a clean page.
She began taking notes in cursive, neat loops and lines flowing across the page, jotting down statistics from the newspapers, paraphrasing quotes, and making bullet points for her editorial. The pen scratched lightly against the paper, mingling with the quiet hum of the library.
For a few minutes, she immersed herself fully in her world of research, cross-referencing, and careful thought, letting everything else fade to the edges of her awareness.
Then, a shadow passed near her peripheral vision. Kit and the Grade 7 student were walking past, Kit’s head bent slightly as she spoke, the younger girl following closely behind. Tala glanced up absentmindedly. Kit’s eyes, calm and focused as always, had accidentally locked with hers.
The younger student’s eyes widened in recognition. “Hi, Ate Tala!” she said brightly, waving a hand.
Tala blinked and nodded, managing a small smile. Kit’s gaze lingered for a moment longer, the faintest hint of surprise in her expression, before she looked away, resuming her quiet path down the aisle.
Tala’s hand tightened slightly on her pen. She went back to her notes, but for a moment, the margins of her page seemed brighter, and the lines of cursive a little less ordinary. Kit had passed by, unaware of the way her quiet presence had tugged at Tala’s attention, leaving her curiosity spinning just a little faster than before.
༄.°
One day, the ninth grader was just finishing her English assignment, a free-verse poem about fleeting moments and hidden thoughts, the kind where lines drifted across the page like autumn leaves carried by a soft wind. She had written it in their publication office, her safe haven, where she could spill her imagination freely without judgment. The room smelled faintly of ink, old paper, and polished wood. The scent is comforting, like a quiet corner of the world carved out just for her. Her pen scratched in neat cursive along the cream-colored pages of her notebook, occasionally pausing as she searched for the perfect turn of phrase, a metaphor that captured a feeling too delicate for ordinary words.
Her co-member, Sophia, a year ahead of her, stood up and began packing her things.
“Tala, una na ‘ko ha? Papagalitan ako nito ni Mama pag ma-late ako ng uwi,” she said, glancing at the clock. It was almost four in the afternoon.
Tala nodded and smiled politely. “Ingat po.”
“Go home na rin pagkatapos mo ‘yan,” the girl added, offering a small wave before walking out.
“Okay lang po. Susunduin naman ako ni Daddy,” Tala replied, watching her Sophia leave. The door creaked behind her, and soft footsteps echoed down the hall, fading into distance.
Tala returned to her poem, letting herself sink into the flow of words again. Her imagination stretched and bent across the page, weaving imagery of wind, shadow, and light. But a few minutes later, a sound drifted in through the half-open window of the office.
It was faint at first, almost imperceptible, then clearer, a quiet, eerie tune that made the hairs on her arms stand on end. The melody was thin, hollow, and haunting, like someone playing notes in a forgotten hallway at midnight. Her eyes widened, heart flickering between curiosity and alarm. The notes wound around her imagination, sharp and cold, making her forget the poem she had just written.
Annoyance prickled at the back of her mind. Who would play something like that at this hour? Tala gathered her notebook, pen, and papers hurriedly and strode toward the office door. The music was coming from the room next door—the music room—its door slightly ajar. A wave of irritation rose in her chest. Was the person inside playing some prank, or were they simply careless?
Tala knocked firmly before pushing the door fully open. “What kind of person plays something like this, anyway?” she muttered under her breath, determined to find the culprit.
The music stopped abruptly. It was Marikit.
Kit stood there, holding her flute. She jumped slightly as the door opened, then straightened her posture, eyes alert. Her hair fell freely around her shoulders, damp from practice, catching the afternoon sunlight in subtle highlights. Her face was flushed with concentration, her fingers still resting lightly on the flute, unaware of the disruption.
“Sorry… may kailangan ka?” Kit asked, her voice calm but tinged with curiosity.
Tala blinked, caught off guard. Kit, the quiet, composed Kit, had just been playing something so eerie. Her mind had already tried to frame the question she wanted to ask—what piece was that? what inspired that sound?—but her voice faltered.
“Uh… none. I just… wondered what sound that could be,” she said finally, trying to keep it casual.
Kit tilted her head slightly. “Oh, it’s Old Doll by Madman—”
“Ah, okay… sige, enjoy,” Tala cut her off suddenly, closing the door completely with a soft click. Kit’s eyes widened in surprise, curiosity flaring, as if she had no idea what had just happened.
Tala leaned against the closed door, suddenly aware of how fast her heart was pounding. Was it the eerie music that had unsettled her? Or was it the way Kit had looked—hair loose and slightly messy, a faint sheen of sweat on her skin, focused entirely on her flute, completely unaware of Tala watching? The details lingered in her mind: the tilt of her head, the steady poise, the calm control of each note.
Shaking herself lightly, Tala brushed off the thoughts. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to her father to come pick her up, the words crisp and practical, grounding her after the unexpected flutter of adrenaline and curiosity that Kit had unintentionally stirred.
༄.°
And slowly, quietly, the feelings grew. Tala noticed the way Kit’s eyes could be both intense and soft at once, how her attention seemed to catch on the things that others overlooked, the way her smile could bloom unexpectedly.
It became undeniable on the steps outside the auditorium. Tala lingered as Kit laughed with her friends, Yssa and Belle, genuine laughter that seemed to light her up from the inside.
Tala froze mid-step, aware of her own heartbeat, aware of the warmth spreading through her chest.
It’s like she… belongs in her own world, and I can’t help but watch. Her thoughts betray her and she didn’t want to move, didn’t want to look away.
Paloma whispered, “Alam ko ‘yang titig na ‘yan, Tal.”
Tala scowled at her, but the corners of her mouth also betrayed her with a smile.
From that moment on, every glance in the hallway, every shared classroom, every casual encounter in the library carried weight. Tala’s admiration, her infatuation, her quiet affection, all began here, in these everyday moments where Kit existed in her periphery, where the smallest gestures felt monumental.
Through years, the quiet things had begun to bloom, and Tala could no longer pretend she hadn’t noticed.